The Hands of Irony
by SleepieCareBear
Summary: Hermione goes to visit her old friend Harry. As painful of an experince as it is. She reflects upon life and it's irony. Pining Romance-y Angst. Read ?


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

I exhaled sharply as the knight bus jerked to a halt in front of his house. The one he never called home. I felt the knot of guilt that had been stuck in my stomach all day tighten. It had been so long since I'd last visited. But frankly, sometimes it was just too hard to come. I'm ashamed to admit it. But the fact of the matter is it's the truth. 

To see him lying there so helplessly. Surrounded by machines and their mechanic hums and beeps. And even though sometimes he did have his good days, when he would even get up and walk around. Well, those seemed to come few and far between now. 

Not that it's his fault though. I don't blame him at all. It's actually the rest of the world I blame. And you know, I always found it sort of ironic, how after he downed an entire bottle of pills to rid himself of the grief. They had to bring him back, and their solution? Put him on pills for depression and numerous other frivolous clinical assumptions, of course. 

But I still didn't blame him. In fact, if I had been in his shoes. I probably would have done the same thing. He never deserved to be shunned like that. It wasn't his choice. The hand he had been dealt. And yet others still resented him for it. He was never quite right. But still so undeserving of what he got. 

Of course, after his suicide attempt they all felt bad. After all, he was _The Boy Who Lived_. What had gone wrong? I mean, the irony of it, really. The Boy Who Lived, only to try to take his own life. But in truth, the only thing that was wrong was them keeping him here longer. 

I was thinking all of this for the umpteenth time as I made my way to his front door. I now stood facing it. I let myself in, not bothering to knock. I never did. What was the point? 

The house was dark and musky. As was usual. I slowly made my way upstairs towards his bedroom. I knocked lightly on the bedroom door as I entered as not to startle him. He just smiled back at me wordlessly. Because really, what was there to say anyway?

"Harry," I said as way of greeting. I sat down in the chair next to his bed. 

"Hermione," he replied, his smile never fading. Merlin it was good to see him. 

I smiled back at him, as his voice pulled a trigger in my mind. I remembered when we were still in school together, back at Hogwarts. Things had been better then. But I recalled this one time, when it had been just the two of us. On the grounds. Ron wasn't there; I can't remember where he had been now. 

But we'd been laughing merrily as we chased each other across the lawn; still wet from a light rain earlier that day. It was a good memory, yet painful at the same time. I'd been so in love with him then. 

I swallowed a lump in my throat; I still was. "So how have you been doing?"

"You came," he replied instead of answering. "I didn't think you would. It'd been so long…."

I looked away from him as he said this. "I'm sorry," was what I replied without a thought.

"I know," he said softly, taking my hand in his. The simple action sent shivers running down my spine. Why did things have to turn out like this? Why couldn't they be less complicated? "So," he said. I turned back towards him. He was still wearing that trademark smile of his. That had never changed. "Go ahead, fill me in on all the gossip of the outside world I've missed."

I stared blankly. I couldn't tell him the truth. What people really said about him? How I defended him. Made them wish they were never born. Of course, it was also said of how he had won the war. But that was only followed by crude gossip and rumours. But really, what could they expect? He was only a baby when the prophecy had been placed upon him. He was never even given a chance.

No, I couldn't bring myself to tell him of that. Instead I said, "Well, you remember Padma Patil?"

"Of course," he said.

"Well, she got married to Colin Creevey last week." 

"Oh really? Well, that wasn't expected, was it?" he murmured, amusement clearing lacing his voice. I could tell he knew though. That I was avoiding telling him what people were saying about him, I mean. But he didn't say anything about it as I continued to tell him about everyone's love lives along with other flippant things. He never did. Complain, I mean. 

"What about you?" he asked after conversation had finally died down and the humming of the machines had begun to come all but unbearable. 

"What about me?"

"Any special new guy?"

I scowled lightly. "Harry, you ask me that same thing every time I come to visit you. The answer still has not changed. No, there is no special guy. You know you're the only important guy in my life."

"Well you never know. It could have changed. After all, it has been a while since you'd last visited. How was I to know it wasn't because you had found someone else more important than I and had simply forgotten about me?" He maintained a straight face throughout all of this. 

"Yeah, you wish," I replied lamely. 

"Never," he smiled back charmingly.

"You sound sarcastic. Do you really dislike my visits that much?" I asked. Honestly I was rather hurt. It took a lot for me to come here and face him. It left me in shambles for days. Knowing I could never be with him. That my chance had come and gone and I'd let it slip right through my grasp. 

"Nonsense," he said. "You know I cherish your visits dearly." 

And so it went. Another visit. They were all the same. Yet unique. Our lives, together and yet apart. A miserable tale of irony. Would it ever change? I doubted it. But then, these were the lives we'd been dealt. Perhaps one day we'd be together. Only time would tell. 


End file.
